


Writer's Block (One Shot)

by coconutmacaroon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutmacaroon/pseuds/coconutmacaroon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Lavellan has lost her entire clan after an attack, and she is unsure how to cope. Varric assures her that writing in a journal is therapeutic - "more therapeutic than a round of drinks, and a hell of a lot cheaper, too," he says - but the words just won't come out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writer's Block (One Shot)

"Keep a journal," Varric had said. "It'll help you let out those emotions you keep bottled up. Your aggression, your sadness… it's more therapeutic than a round of drinks, and a hell of a lot cheaper, too."

Sari inhaled the heady scent of parchment and leather as she sat with her head bowed, staring down at the blank pages before her. Her forehead rested against her hands, her elbows supporting all of the weight on either side of the empty journal. The desk was bathed in the orange glow of the candles she had set up around her quarters, illuminating her workspace in the darkness of night and sending shadows dancing across the walls.

She had tried to follow Varric's advice for the past two weeks, ever since he had given her the journal. At least once a day since then she had sat down, just as she sat now, with the intention of writing and not stopping until her hand ached. She longed for that release of emotion that Varric had promised, the feeling of the weight lifting off her shoulders and flooding the pages rather than her thoughts. Yet the words refused to form in her mind; the emotions sat, stagnant, waiting for some kind of breakthrough. But she just couldn't make them coherent.

Leaning back in her chair, Sari closed her eyes. She let her thoughts drift out the window, over the walls of Skyhold, past the Inquisition, and all the way back to the Free Marches, where her clan was located.

At least, where they _used_ to be located.

She remembered sitting in the library when Cullen approached, a letter clutched in his fist. She had been waiting for news on the attack at Wycome for some time, and she could tell by the look on his face that this was what she had been waiting for. Cullen pulled her aside, leading her out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. "Inquisitor," he began, his voice calm yet low. She realized then how grave the situation was; since arriving at Skyhold, he rarely called her by her title.

He saw the tension in her posture, his eyes softening. "Sari," he continued, struggling with the words before sighing and handing over the letter. Her eyes scanned the hastily-scribbled words on the parchment, coming to a halt as she read, _"I regret to inform you…"_

The letter fell from her hands. Her knees buckled; she stumbled against the balcony railing. She could hear Cullen calling her name, but it was muffled, as if she was sinking beneath waves. Everything went black.

When she awoke she found herself in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for the tears to come.

But they never did.

Holing herself up in her quarters for several days, Sari refused to see anyone. Cole slipped in once to bring her cookies from the kitchen, but she only managed to eat one. When she did emerge from her chambers she was silent, stoic, for the longest time. She took the time to tend to all of the paperwork from Josephine that had stacked up, paperwork she had been avoiding in favor of trekking across Thedas with her companions. Before, she had enjoyed being in the thick of it all, being in the middle of the fighting and seeing the people the Inquisition was helping. But after the letter…

She found it difficult to find motivation for anything anymore. The thought of fighting again made her feel nauseous; even the idea of touching her staff seemed somehow appalling. It reminded her of training with the Keeper, and she just couldn't handle the memories right now. She knew everyone was worried about her, trying to make her laugh with jokes and stories during supper, but the most she could do was crack a small smile. Cassandra tried to be firm with her, to remind her that she was the Inquisitor and people were depending on her, but that didn't work either.

Sari thought back to what it was like living with her clan. She remembered being young and naïve, running between the tents with her sister, trying to keep away from Elinora's touch while they screamed in delight. She remembered discovering her magic abilities, at first fearful of what was happening, only to have Elinora stroke her hair and assure her that nothing was wrong, that she was simply gifted and this was something she should cherish. She remembered the day she was named as the Keeper's First, how badly her hands shook from nerves, only to make eye contact with Elinora in the crowd; her sister's simple smile – the one that always showed her teeth no matter how hard she tried, the one that spread a twinkle all the way into her lilac eyes, identical to Sari's – was all it took to calm her down.

Elinora was not only Sari's last remaining family member, but she had also been Sari's best friend. Sure, she'd made close friends since her time with the Inquisition, but Elinora was something more. The bond she had with her sister was closer than she had had with anyone else. She could tell her anything, and vice versa.

"You can't just tell me that you're fine," Elinora told her once, as she watched Sari pace the tent and chew on her lip as she inwardly fretted over an argument with the Keeper.

"But I am fine," Sari lied.

"I know you better than that. You've got to stop bottling up your emotions, Riri; you can't be afraid of letting it out. Just confide in me. I'm not here to judge you, or criticize you. I'm only here to listen."

_Squawk!_

Sari's eyes snapped open as she heard the angry raven screaming as it flew past her balcony, probably delivering a message for Leliana. It was jarring to realize she was still at Skyhold; she could've sworn she smelled the fresh grass and heard the nearby river lapping lazily against rocks. But it was all in her memory.

She scrubbed her face with her hands, looking down at the journal that still sat in front of her, its pages as empty as the day Varric had presented it to her. She had been watching the soldiers train in the courtyard when she felt him standing beside her, though how long he'd been at her side, she couldn't say. With a concerned look in his eyes, he slipped the journal into her hand – the leather cover feeling soft against the Mark on her hand – and softly gave her words of encouragement. "Keep a journal. It'll help you let out those emotions you keep bottled up…"

She thought of Elinora. _"You've got to stop bottling up your emotions, Riri; you can't be afraid of letting it out. Just confide in me."_

Sari reached for the quill, dipping it into the inkwell. She paused, the quill mere inches away from the parchment, before scrawling along the top of the page:

_"Dear Elinora –"_

She began writing slowly at first, as if she were scared that the words, her thoughts, might disappear. As she felt the prickling burn behind her eyes that announced the onset of tears, the words began flowing quicker, spilling out faster than her brain could keep up with. Tears cascaded in waves down her cheeks, dripping onto the page, but she didn't care. She just kept writing, kept telling "Elinora" everything that had weighed down her heart for the last several weeks.

_"I miss you. I miss you more than words can express. I can't believe that you're gone… Sometimes this feels like a really bad dream, and I'll wake up, and everything will be fine again. But I know that's not true. Sometimes I wonder what you were doing when the attack happened, but then I stop myself. I don't want to think about that. I only want to remember you as you were, when I left. I want to remember you as being happy and giddy, rather than… well, rather than anything else._

_They say it'll get easier over time. But right now, I'm not so sure about that. It hurts – it's like there's this stone in my chest, but no matter what I do or where I go, it's always there. It never seems to get any smaller. But it's a dull ache; sometimes I can't feel the stone, but I know it's there. It's as if I've gone numb. At first I was happy for the numbness, because it replaced the pain, but now I just want it all to go away. I want to be happy again, and I wonder if I can feel happy knowing that you're gone._

_Everyone is worried about me. I think they're expecting me to have some sort of breakdown. I guess I can't blame them, though; I did shut down for a while. I can see how they look at me when I pass by them, how they exchange glances behind my back. On more than one occasion I've walked into a room to hear everyone whispering, then fall silent as they see me. I know they're talking about me; I know they're trying to figure out just how broken I am, and how they can fix me. I can be fixed, can't I?_

_I'm scared, Nora. I'm scared of failing, I'm scared of losing. All of Thedas is looking at me, and… and I just don't know how to handle that. What if I_ can't _handle it? I lost you because of this stupid war. What if I do something wrong, what if I make the wrong call, and I cause someone else to lose their family too? What if I single-handedly wreck someone else's life? I don't want to bring this kind of pain and heartbreak on someone else. And then I tell myself I have to be strong. I'm the_ Inquisitor. _I'm supposed to be the one that everyone turns to in their times of crisis. If I can't even hold my head up during my own crisis, how can I handle everyone else's? But I don't know how I can do that. Can I still be strong even if I'm scared? Despite my fears?_

_I remember when I confided how terrified I was of becoming the Keeper's First, how scared I was of messing up. You took me in your arms, held me close, hummed that lullaby that Mother always sang us before she passed on. And when you were done, you looked me straight in the eyes and told me, 'Riri, promise me one thing: promise me that you'll fight, that you'll do everything in your power to succeed. Don't let the fear of failure keep you from trying. Even if it doesn't work out, I want you to at least be able to hold your head high and be content with the fact that you tried, and you gave it every ounce of willpower in your little body. Do it for me, Riri. Okay?'" Is that what you would tell me now?_

_Varric told me this would help. I already feel lighter, as if all of this weight has dissolved off my shoulders. That stone in my stomach feels duller than ever. I know you aren't here, but it helps to act like you are, to pretend that I'm talking with you just like those times we would stay up all night and talk about everything in our lives. Mother and Father, magic, the world… our futures._

_But the future is all up to me now, isn't it? You're gone – as much as it pains me to write this – and I can't change that. I can't delude myself into thinking this is all a dream. I tried that; I tried building up that grandeur, that illusion that spawned from so desperately wanting to pretend that you were still alive. But it made things worse. I have to be strong. For you._

_I swear Nora, with everything I have in me, I'll make the future the kind of place you would be proud of._

_-Riri._

_PS: Varric was right. This_ is _more therapeutic than a round of drinks."_


End file.
